The Missing Scene from 'The Knife'
by JaneAire
Summary: How did Roxton recover? They never mentioned it and i was curious..so here's my take! Part 8, I do believe an Ending.
1. Chapter 1

Ever wonder what happened between Marguerite finding Roxton half-drowned and the sudden togetherness of the group at the end, throwing the knife into that giant pit of burning lava.. well i did! I found it so wierd that no one was like "Dude, where were you?!" or better yet "Hey, how was the beach?" i mean come on! they're supposed to be a family here.. well anywhoo here's my take on it. oh and in the next chapter i will have more characters than just Marguerite and Roxton.. its not my fault i like them better.. enjoy!

_Roxton! Roxton!'_ Marguerite screamed, her voice becoming harsh and pleading. Her darks locks becoming wild as she ran for the man she loved. Dodging tree limbs and plunging through the icy waters she ran with her eyes darting, hoping for just one glimpse of him. She was nearly tangled in the dark green of the forest when through her desperation she began pleading.

_Please, Roxton!?_ And then from a stroke of luck, she saw his boots peeking out from behind a fallen tree. She stopped for a brief moment if only to make sure he was real. She darted from her place, losing her hat along the way and quickly held him above water. She plastered his face on hers, and began to breathe into him.

_"Don't you dare leave me."_ She scolded him, and continued her attempt at reviving him.

When he began to cough, she realised she had been holding her breathe and the two took heavy breaths together. Her face was hovering at his temple, the sudden need to reassure herself that he was alive.

_"We've got to stop meeting like this"_ A simple phrase meant to reassure her of his wellbeing. They would go on, resuming their casual banter that they both enjoyed immeasurably.

'_I'm so sorry John; you were right about that horrible man._ "The hunter's face plunged into a battered smile as he watched the Marguerite Krux of the past die. Never would that heiress apologise, but his Marguerite would.

"_I'll remind you of that the next time you doubt my judgement"_ His breathing improved somewhat but the words were uttered in between strained gulps for air. The couple shared a hearty laugh as smiles erupted on both faces.

_"I never will, I promise."_ Marguerite uttered as she stared into his eyes. She looked up into the sky and quickly noted that they had a few hours of daylight left. She slowly got into a more comfortable position as Roxton's weight threatened to overcome her. She looked at him once more, and to her surprise he was snuggled into her and smiling broadly. "Comfortable?"

"Just about" She had sat down crossed-legged; the water level had risen slightly and was covering just below the top of her skirt. His chest was at her midriff, his head at her chest. She tucked his arms in and around himself, making sure he was sufficiently out of the water. Although he itched to regain movement once again, this closeness he wanted forever.

They sat in silence, waiting for the affects to cease, yet never wanted it to end. Periodically Marguerite peaked down, and revealed in the sight she found there. Her ruthless hunter, rugged protector, her companion, was blissfully leaning against her, his eyes were closed and she was sure he was napping. She smiled, knowing the terrible night he must have had, never daring to sleep fully knowing he might not wake. Her pistol was reloaded and secured at her hip, although the angle was changed due her human cargo.

After an hour or so, the daylight began to drift and the hunter stiffened at his awake. If she noticed she didn't let on. He flinched very slowly in his legs first. When Marguerite glanced his way, his feet were crossed and his smile bright.

"Try bending your knees, you aren't light you know."

The only response was a muffled 'hmmm" as the hunter assessed his own abilities. He uncrossed his legs and slowly bent one knee and then the other. His feet were now the only parts of him submerged.

'Try sitting up?' Marguerite lightly coerced him to her off her. She had been soaking for hours, her skirt sodden and murky, her hands shrivelled like prunes. She was so cold her hands begun to shake, not that she'd let him see. The only sign was a subtle blue tint to her lips, and a rather ghostly affect on her skin. Both she could blame on stress, or his substantial weight, if need be.

He mumbled something incoherently and manoeuvred himself off her. He used his arms to grab his feet and haul him to an upright position. Once there he strained to remain independent, when he faltered slightly he felt her move against him, and once again he rested on her. His pack was lost somewhere amidst the waterlogged surroundings, and its counterpart remained on Marguerite's back. Their sleeping blankets were long forgotten, merely because they'd be so wet and rendered useless.

Marguerite?

Mmm..?

Where's my hat?

She chuckled aloud, enjoying the breezy moments as he regained his strength and unknowingly continued to zap hers. She snuggled closer, and rested her head atop his. They murmured together, enjoying the heat and tenderness that came with such closeness. Her eyes closed for a second, and then felt him tense up. She opened her eyes and gave him a look of questioning, when her gaze followed his high into the sky. He had spotted a gaggle of pterodactyls. He struggled to raise his arm and shifted slightly as to cover her body. She snorted an indignant huff at his protective nature. The tide had ceased rising and had begun its retreat. This left the two explorers in a would-be mud pit. He lifted himself slightly as she silently retrieved her pistol and readied for the upcoming hours.

To be continued. and this time i mean it. what did you think? Even tho i should be working on my other fic.. i couldnt get this story out of my head.. so here it is.


	2. Chapter 2

The pterodactyls circled overhead, peaking and darting throughout the darkened sky with deadly accuracy. They approached the dark-haired couple with grace and vengeance. They were waiting.

Marguerite, with pistol in hand, and dead-weight for a protector, readied her pistol. She silenced his murmurs with one hand and spying a deer within her sights, shot the beauty down. The shot scared off most of the flying demons but the remaining few were treated to a feast of venison. They were in frenzy, stripping the flesh and carrying off most of the carcass to whatever nest they called home.

_You'd rather I threw the picnic basket, Roxton?_

A '_Mmmm__'_ was all the answer she got as he tested his weight once more. He gave a slight lurch while planting his feet in the murky ground, and grabbing his ankles sat upright. Marguerite sighed loudly when he stayed on his own and tried to get the feeling back in her legs. Her white skirt was blackened with mud, her purple shirt horribly dirty, and her face was splattered with bits of muck. She grimaced like a school-girl and getting up shook her attire with disgust. She let out an audible "_Eww__" _for lack of a better word.

John? Need some help?' Marguerite asked kindly while making a grand show of her appearance.

'Well don't you look fine, no... no I'll be fine.' Roxton uttered while setting his jaw and getting to his feet alone.

Stubborn'

Hardly'

After a moment of testing his limbs, and having his heiress shoulder most of his weight, they were off. Roxton forgot them for a moment, forgot their situation, the murderer, and stared into the eyes of his Marguerite.

_You saved my life.'_

_Oh hardly. Anyone could have come along.' _

She downplayed the intensity of the situation as she always did.

_Besides,' _She continued, _you'd do the same for me.'_ As her wide eyes glanced from the ground to taken in the piercing eyes of her hunter. _ 'Now, Shall we get cleaned up?'_

They walked together, leaning against one another towards their sand castle on the beach.

Roxton washed and hung up his shirt then sat in her chair, while he waited for Marguerite to return with their muddy belongings. He would shake of the fear of dying like always, but he would never lose the thoughts that entered his consciousness when he was on the brink of life.

He hadn't moved from his place in hours, he saw the tide rising and his life shortening. But all he could feel was the fear that collapsed his heart. His Marguerite was in danger, that madman had her and he failed to protect his charge. He would never forget that awful feeling of utter despair that washed in with the tide.

Hours into his gruesome ordeal he began to see all sorts of wonderful mirages and painful memories. His brother past by his consciousness in a mini-series of events that haunted him. He saw his mother, father, house and beloved England. But he was searching the images for the one he longed for most, his haughty heiress, his hot-tempered Marguerite. He saw the first hours they were together, the ones that would be forever imprinted in his memory flash before him. He saw the first time he stole a kiss, the first longing glances. Years went by him in the span of mere minutes. He chuckled to himself that dying was like a great series of photographs, a collage of your dearest memories. Then everything faded to a mere black existence and he was peering into two sets of consciousnesses. He saw one to his right, the old manor of his childhood, and to his right a jail cell. He saw two sets of Marguerites. His mind zoomed into the first series of events. Roxton gasped as he saw Marguerite enter grumbling something incoherently and then went about stripping the furniture of its dust and protective sheet. She lit the old-fashioned lights and turned on the more modern of the fixtures. He stared at her longingly until he was physically beside her.

_I expect your help, Lord Roxton.' _Roxton noticeably started when the seeming apparition addressed him in a playful sarcastic tone.

_Nothing would please me more, Marguerite. _ Roxton chucked as he lifted the now-folded sheets from her hands and placed it in the boxes next to him. He thought he was in heaven, but when Marguerite accidently dropped a book on his foot, he knew better. He didn't care as long as she was with him.

He bent to retrieve the book and while doing so fully surveyed this new Marguerite. She was tempered the same, yet her style was differed. He noticed her dress was far less fancy and risqué then the elegant gowns she wore before their departure. She was modestly attired in a striking light purple dress that covered most of her. It was loose fitting and with a high waist.

_What? _ Marguerite stared at him, her eyes fuming. She looked herself up and down then squared her eyes at him. _This, This dress is your fault, Roxton. _ She was losing control of her emotions as she spoke. Her breath hitched at his name and she grabbed the table for support. She stared at the ground placing the mask upon her face.

He continued to stare completely aware of her emotional turmoil. He walked around her in a circle and then stopped to stand at her front.

She grimaced at him, completely unforgiving of his rudeness.

_You look lovely.' _Roxton murmured as he placed her hand on her round tummy.

_Well I should hope so.' _She uttered back as she placed her hands upon his.

They stood together as such for a while before they were both kicked by the little demon inside the heiress. Roxton giggled with glee as his child fought the tender moment for his mother. He was lost in the merriment that was this futuristic vision. Together they rearranged furniture, dusted and lit the massive stove.

_Boy?'_ Roxton eyebrows peaked as he questioned the heiress as per their routine.

_Well__Ned, George, Arthur, or William naturally.__ Could throw in a John Jr. If one saw fit. Girl?_

_Georgia, Edwina__ I hope it's a boy. None of those seem to qualify._' Roxton finished with a hearty laugh as they continued their dinner.

_The way it kicks it'll be more of a hunter. But it's nothing I can't handle.' _Marguerite said in between ravenous gulps of milk and forkfuls of potatoes.

_'Are we sure it's human? The way you're eating might suggest otherwise." _

The only retort the hunter got was a bread bun thrown at him and a grunt from the hungry lady.

_May I remind you sir, that this_ _is your fault.'_ Marguerite mocked-distain as she pointed dramatically at her stomach.

_Hardly!_' John countered while suppressing a laugh. The hunter reached over and cupped her cheek with his rugged hand to atone. She leaned into his embrace, as she always had, and then broke it suddenly to attack her food once more.

_I swear this kid eats like a T-Rex.'_

_Hmm...__Well then we can handle it can't we.' _They chucked together hoping for the future while remembering the past.

As Marguerite cleared the plates and stuffed one bun into her mouth, and the other in her dress pocket, Roxton cleared the serving dishes. She gathered the pots while he pumped water from the well to clean the dished. She plugged the drain and then gathered the dishes into the sink. With her hands occupied Roxton reached around her and nuzzled into her neck.

_John__..'_Marguerite stuttered while clearly not moving from her position.

_Yes, Marguerite?_ John spoke into her neck as he kissed the little skin that shone from her dress.

He placed his hands on their child and grinned impossibly large. His happiness encompassed his entire being.

_I've never been this incredibly happy.' _

_Nor I, Lord John.'_ Marguerite uttered as she turned her head and kissed her husband.

Then before the hunter's eyes this vision was ripped from his consciousness and he was betrayed to the second vision. Before him was a dark, cold and grimy series of cells.

He entered but went unseen throughout the halls of the prison. He searched in vain for any clue to his whereabouts. If that had been heaven, which John doubted, then this might be hell. If that was future, then what was this?

He walked the length of the building peering into the cells with curiosity and bewilderment. Then he came across a mess of curls betraying his Marguerite's frame. She was sprawled on the ground of her cell, noticeably far from the mattress and bed, and curled into the foetus position. Her hands were bound and she was mewing incoherent mumblings. He came closer and she noticeably started.

_Oh Good, Now I'm hallucinating.' _Marguerite uttered to herself in the dark room. _That can't be John, Idiot.' _

Roxton peered at her form, and she his. He studied her being, seeing her starker than usual, thinner, and clearly more dirty. If he knew anything he knew the cleanliness factor for his Marguerite. He stayed still so as to not scare her with his actuality. She in turn studied him. When she reached out and touched him, a tear escaped from her eye.

_John..?_ Marguerite's voice shook as she beheld her hunter.

_I'm here Marguerite. We're going to get you home.'_

Marguerite's eyes lit up and in an instant sparked again with her violent rage and anger.

_'You've no right to be here. You made your choice, and I mine. You couldn't deal with it, so I left for you.'_ She nearly screamed at him, but the deafening silence of the prison made her rethink her volume.

_Couldn't deal with what Marguerite?' _Roxton looked back dumbstruck and searched his memory frantically for any hint to the puzzle.

_Secrets, John. Isn't always about the secrets? _

_I don't care about any of your damn secrets, Marguerite!'_

_That's the problem John.' _

_ Marguerite squinted her eyes, trying to take in all of her hunter at once. Roxton follow suit and eyed her with a vengeance. He saw the rugged bruise on her cheek, the stain of blood on her plain grey outfit. She saw the youth in his eyes, the vigour at which he attempted speech. _Instantly they both knew the forms of their partners were different, an alternate reality of Roxton and Marguerite lay before them.

_He's ... I'm sorry.'_

_I know, John. I know.' _ Marguerite concluded their conversation with a small tender kiss on his cheek, which stole a painful grunt from her lips. Roxton's eyes closed as he was returned to his place amidst the flowing tides and the fearful thoughts for his heiress.

_John? John!'_ Marguerite woke him from his memories with a plea for laundry assistance. She was shoulder deep in the water, shivering noticeably now, trying to salvage their belongings. He took in a sharp breath as he looked at her current attire. She had shed her blouse and added it to the wash, and had stripped down to her short bloomers in an attempt to let the warm tropical water's heat radiate through her, leaving her in shorts and camisole. Her arms would flail about her mixing the soap, the clothes and her in the process. He let out a hearty laugh at the sight, before stripping to the bottom part of his summer long-johns. He dove under the water and caught up with her in seconds. He hugged her while mixing the laundry, to add an element of body heat. She let him, whether it was due to the temperature or the near-death experience no one could tell. They stood that way for eternity before they begrudgingly attempted to hang their laundry in a near-by tree. The heat of the sun dried the clothes quickly and soon the pair were headed for the tree house, and the murderers in tow.


	3. Chapter 3

Roxton stared at his Marguerite as she adjusted her partially wet clothes. They had just started to travel the distance between the beach and the tree house, when Roxton noticed that his charge was falling behind in pace. When he took a closer look he noticed she was shivering, despite the warm weather, and activity. She also paled out in complexion and her lips took on a rather alarming colour.

'You okay back there?' Roxton called to the heiress as she slumped behind him.

'Just peachy, Lord Roxton.' Marguerite called with an air of annoyance.

Roxton slowed his pace to meet that of Marguerites while offering his arm and assistance.

Marguerite was exhausted, despite the laundry break that was allowed. The frantic run for the life of Roxton took everything she had, she just couldn't lose him. Then they had sat in a pile of mud, with the heavy weight of a seasoned hunter pushing her deeper into the pit while pterodactyls circled nearby. Could this day get any better indeed?

They walked hand in hand for as long as possible. They cleared a small patch of bushes, and Roxton absentmindedly helped the heiress down a small slope. They had always acted like this, even while fighting, his arm would shoot out, hers would take it. Suddenly Roxton slammed Marguerite into the nook of a nearby tree while a gun shot rang in the silent forest.

'Next time be a little more gentle' Marguerite whispered beneath the warm protection of her hunter.

'Should I let you just get shot?' Roxton retorted while scanning the foliage with his riffle, Marguerite did the same with her pistol.

Both sets of eyes frantically searched the area for traces of their enemy and it was the heiress who spied them first. The red hair and English explorer garb clearly gave away the shape of their dear friend, Challenger.

'Hey old boy you trying to kill us?' Roxton hollered out while uncovering Marguerite with his body.

Oh, sorry John thought I saw a raptor.' Challenger replied meekly while making his way to the dishevelled explorers.

Roxton scampered up to the scientist assuming Marguerite would follow, but as he turned to help her around a small mud patch he was shaken by the sight. Marguerite was slumped over in the tree's nook, her gun loyally beside her, and the raptor was feasting.

Roxton let out a booming guttural cry as he shot the raptor several times over, and ran to her.


	4. Chapter 4

Marguerite felt the blood drain from her as the raptor chewed mercilessly on her flesh. She felt every rip and savage pull at her skin, but she was powerless to help herself, both mentally and physically drained beyond her limit. She had waivered in mid-air while the beast attacked. Her hand automatically palmed her weapon but to her horror shook and dropped it immediately. Her lips her opened but her throat wouldn't sound his name. She was mute to the world and the one person she needed it in. At that very moment she'd never felt so useless, so defeated, and yet when her eyes had closed she didn't feel dependant. She felt like she was missing a part of her, a part only the rugged hunter could play. It wasn't that she couldn't stand alone; it's that she didn't want to.

As the massive clawed beast tore into her, she collapsed into a dream of her hunter. They were at the beach again, before the chaos had begun. She was lounging on her chair watching him create a sand castle with the glee of a small child. He put in great detail, sculpting every nook, creating a mote, the man was relatively possessed. They both knew what he was creating; his home, or in time maybe their home. She never dwelt on 'home' realistically home could be taken from you, forced from you, or you simply needed to leave it. But his home, she thought whimsically was a place she belonged. They both knew it, they both felt it. They had belonged together.

Marguerite instinctively stiffened when she noticed she was using past-tense in her reverie. She knew she wasn't dead, or for the time being, wasn't dead yet. And she sure as hell didn't want to be dead. She ripped herself from the loving scene and picturesque landscape, to flutter her eyes open momentarily. She saw in oddly slow motion Roxton, riffle in hand slaughtering the beast with riffle shots enough for the cavalry. It died on first impact and then it got punished. She watched in horror as the thing nearly collapsed on her, but a swift kick from Roxton sent the massive thing into the bushes with a solid reassuring thump.

'Marguerite?' John near silently uttered her name with the tone of a heartbroken child. He immediately ripped open his shirt and vest to neatly pad her wounds. She was covered in blood, whether the beast's or Marguerite's no one could tell for some time. She had several large gashes streaming from both legs, with garish emphasis on her right, her arms were splattered with blood though one was broken, her midsection was bloodied but the extent to which would remain unknown.

You're ok. You're ok. I'm here, I'd never leave you.' Roxton voiced so low that Marguerite could barely hear him. He picked her up soundlessly, subconsciously weaving his hand into her hair, and for one she didn't protest. This in itself was not a good sign. She murmured incoherently for the duration of their trip to the tree house. It was a long frantic run as the hunter left Challenger automatically and sped off. She was all he could think of during those moments. She had spun a spell on him, when she was in danger his head would clear of any other thoughts, not food, nor common sense, clearly not even other people. He regretted this, but he wouldn't change it for the world.

When Roxton was within earshot he savagely hollered up to Veronica and belayed the news. The jungle beauty sent the elevator down and readied the medical supplies. Roxton rode the elevator with the impatience of a child, thumping his leg while not jarring Marguerite in the least. He couldn't think, he just needed her to be alright. He would never forgive himself. He left her in danger; he left her.


	5. Chapter 5

I never should have left you alone,"Roxton uttered into the unconscious form of Marguerite, "It's not safe without me. You're not safe. You're going to be fine, just fine. They were all in her room in the tree house, her large bed illuminated with the bright sunlight of the tropical sun. Roxton placed her on her back, hair and limbs sprawled out, blood staining the sheets. Her eyes were closed, her expression limp and without feeling. Roxton could barely breathe; he sat there, daring to sit on the edge of her bed which she would never allow. Veronica and Challenger tended to her wounds as Malone went about butchering and drying the raptor meat that seemed to litter the explorer's compound. The raptor foolish enough to electrocute itself would be meat, the bullet-ridden one used for skins. It needed to be done before it started rotting and they were all in for some serious trouble. Malone was then going to the abandoned camp to see what rations they could salvage; the medical supplies alone would be a lifesaver if they ran out.

'John, we're going to have to set that arm. This will hurt so it's better to do it while she's unconscious.'

Roxton agreed while taking the knife out of his sheath and cutting a slice of raptor leather off of his pack. With the grace only a hunter could attain, Roxton lifted his heiress' chin while placing the leather in between her teeth. He then nodded for Challenger to begin his work.

The red-headed scientist took Marguerite's arm gently and then jerked it up and right to replace the socket. Marguerite noticeably stirred but thankfully never awoke. Challenger then felt around her arm and pressed none-too-gently to realign her bones.

Just as I thought,' the scientist murmured, 'Broken in two places.'

The hunter replaced his hands in hers while Challenger went about replacing the gauze and adding salve to the wounds.

'Uh, John.' The scientist noticeably reddened and stammered in his speech. 'It seems that she has some wounds... she... and her privacy... I think it would be better if...'

The hunter nodded while eying the unconscious form of Marguerite. When the scientist had cleared the room, the hunter moved the white sheet that covered the middle of his heiress and gasped at the sight he saw there. The wounds were few but deep. She had one or two long claw marks from navel to ribcage. The hunter used his knife to cut away from her camisole to expose her wounds. He then padded the area and recovered it. Marguerite would have been proud, her modesty remained. The woman was a conundrum to the hunter; she could be seductive and bold, then bashful and incredibly shy. She seemed to use whatever worked at the moment. But the hunter knew that what she actually was his double, his mate, his perfect half. It didn't matter which Marguerite he found, the hot-tempered socialite, the wild and savage explorer, or the tender hearted lover, he loved them all.

She fluttered her eyes violently and caught the hunter in his reverie. Their eyes locked instantly and each belayed the other's conscious. She knew that he was ashamed and sorry he left her, He knew that she was spent from protecting him and wouldn't change that for the world. Still, he needed to voice it.

'It should be me and not you.' John muttered into the sheets on Marguerite's bed.

The heiress grunted and assumed her hard-edge.

It doesn't matter John, we're both alive, we're both safe.' The dark-haired beauty motioned for help to sit up and the hunter helped her adjust to the new incline. She then placed on hand on the bed beside her and welcomed her hunter.

Roxton immediately jumped at the chance for contact, something the heiress didn't dole out often. It wasn't that she didn't want the comfort, the utter serenity of togetherness; it was that problematic relationship of theirs always seemed to incite danger. They would snuggle at one moment and then get attacked by a band of wandering thieves. Clearly they did not live ordinary lives, and she wanted to keep them living at all cost. So the hunter steadied himself next to his charge, one leg for balance on the floor, his arm around his wounded companion, and he cautioned himself not to jar her. He placed a pillow under her injured arm and she winced involuntarily. They adjusted the blankets to cover all and Marguerite truly felt calm.

They sat together, Roxton beaming from ear to ear, Marguerite trying to force the sheer piercing pain out of her consciousness, and waited for time to heal all pains.

Meanwhile, Challenger and Veronica were busy readying supplies in the main room.

'Ned and I should be back by tomorrow; you should stay and tend to Marguerite. We're going to need more gauze and Roxton doesn't seem ready to leave.' Veronica said in hushed tones to the worried scientist. The reported and the jungle beauty were set to leave for the trading camps, as well as pick up additional medical supplies along the way. That left Challenger and Roxton to tend to the wounded explorer.

We should be more than fine, young lady.' Challenger hid his fears while escorting the young couple to the elevator. 'We'll send mirror signals if things should take for the worst.'

They hugged goodbye and the tree house was left in eerie silence. The scientist left a small note for Roxton entailing that he was down in the lab, and there was stew that could be reheated. The scientist shook with the gruesome task ahead of him. He took the Marguerite's bloodied bandages down to his lab, where the entire corpse of the disembowelled and dissected raptor was hidden.


	6. Chapter 6

Challenger was pondering to himself, alone in the depths of his laboratory, weighing the raptor's pink flesh. He had noticed an abnormality in the gashes on Marguerite, and deliberately exempted both the heiress and her hunter from it. Sheer worry could kill her at this point, and with her gone Roxton would be as well. The elderly scientist had watched their love bloom and with surprising results. As they became closer they became better people, as if they could lose themselves in each other and live solely for the other. He knew that Roxton would follow her anywhere and surely after weighing the outcomes Marguerite would too. A separation at this point would be devastating and couldn't be allowed. It happened ever so gradually that it was like a wild fire; a small flame kept alive would sprout and grow into a trailblazing inferno. The haughty woman was tempered by her cool headed Roxton, and the hunter was on an everlasting vigil with his Marguerite. She became more collected and lost her venom which she could resurrect on a dime but it became less frequent. He had stopped wanting to dull the senses with liquor and danger, now he lived solely to protect his love. Challenger, Malone and Veronica had promised each other not to divulge the secrets of this day. The murderers being disposed off, the meat being packed, and certainly the danger could be kept to themselves. It would make for lovely small talk once the rain season had begun, that is assuming all were alive to hear it. The Challenger placed his samples into small glass vials and waited for his results to temper.

Marguerite stirred on her bed, temporarily forgetting her pain and looked towards her sleeping companion. The great white hunter was balancing between the very edge of her bed and that of her chair. His eyes were shut and his breathing deep but she could tell he was on the verge of consciousness, aware of her every movement and being. She had never known a man like him, who could so wholly and physically care for others; it astounded and tempted her to give all of herself. This in its very concept frightened her to the bone. In their joined slumber somehow Roxton's hand had woven itself into her hair and supported her neck, while his fingers rested on the crook in her neck and constantly reassured him of her heart beat. After horrifying events such as these the hunter needed constant proof of her wellbeing or the man couldn't sleep. Marguerite woke up with her good arm sprawled across his chest, intertwined with his and her entire being pressed up against him. His arm kept her hair in check from her eyes and their hands were forever bound together. Their souls were joined.

'... John?'

'Yes, Marguerite?' Roxton responded while his eyes remained dutifully closed.

'Challenger will be here to check on me soon.' The heiress grumbled while trying to pry herself away from his firm but pleasant grasp.

And how are you this morning?' The hunter questioned while adjusting his hat and sitting upright.

'Oh just peachy' was the reply from the disgruntled and aching woman.

They groaned in unison while tearing themselves away from the other in sheer lunacy. He left to fix breakfast and coffee, while she redressed her bandages and waited for his return.

When the scientist popped his head in reluctantly, he found the hunter who looked like death, with a grave and fixed face and the heiress in loose fitting skirt and with blouse partially opened sipping coffee. The hunter looked dishevelled, having not changed nor eaten for at least a week and the heiress who was freshly bathed and wearing clean and pressed clothing. Although unknown to the scientist the hunter had helped his lady dress due to the injury of her arm, and he enjoyed that immensely. The poor man wouldn't be able to get that scene out of his head for months, his face lit up with the mere thought of it. Her hair was left down to not incur suspicion and because poor Roxton couldn't braid for beans. The hunter smiled like a giddy school boy as she reluctantly left her hair down and revelled in the uncommon sight of her beautiful locks left perfectly alone. Her hair simmered in the morning sun as she ate breakfast dutifully. They sat together, chairs uncommonly apart and refrained from direct eye contact that would surely give away the sheer bliss of each other. As always the scientist pretended to not notice the dark-haired couple's antics.

Morning George'

And what a lovely morning it is' came from the sore woman as she was helped off her chair by the chivalrous hunter.

They made eye contact then and she lowered her eyes to signal the scientist's wandering glances. They made silent pacts to get alone together soon.

They made plans to work in the garden, under the hunter's watchful eye. Riffles were double checked, electric fence was on full blast, and medical rations were in spades. The scientist returned to his abode and his important work, while Marguerite and Roxton headed for the garden.

A short time later, Roxton happily dug into the rich earth as he watched the energy the heiress exhibited towards her plants. It was strange to think that just a few short hours ago she was clinging to life and now she seemed full of it. He marvelled at the beauty of nature and the wonders it held. She pulled up the carrots they needed for dinner while the hunter packed in more seeds for onions and tomato plants. Challenger had cross-bred the seeds from two resilient strains and hoped for a more sturdy plant. The dark-haired couple were merely acting out orders.

They stopped for a break during the midday heat under a large oak tree close to the small garden. They shared their canteen and spread out lunch. Marguerite picked up a grape and held it out seductively for her hunter. He murmured incoherently as he brought his mouth to her small fingers. She plopped it in his mouth with a stout laugh, her smile from ear to ear.

You sure are in good spirits'

Mmm... Haven't felt this good in years' Marguerite punctuated with a slight eye roll, her lids going to half mast.

The hunter took the opportunity gave him and lifted his mouth to hers. They shared a tentative kiss which then deepened, their breath no longer needed. Roxton cupped her head in one hand which caused her to moan outright. The hunter noticed something wasn't right and he stopped their caress.

He adjusted his hat to see beads of sweat on her brow, her complexion gone astoundingly pale, and a look of pure fear in her eyes.

John... help.' The heiress stuttered out while peering down to see her wounds reopening and blood oozing into her clothing.

Their eyes locked momentarily and the fear was shared. The hunter forgot all as he picked her up outright and sprinted for the tree house.

Challenger!! Send down the bloody elevator quickly!!' Roxton shouted while pacing back and forth with Marguerite lifeless in his arms. Once in the tree house Marguerite was laid out on the divan and the scientist set to work. The wounds were redressed no time but the colour was drained from her face.

'I don't understand George; she was fine a minute ago.'

Quite right Roxton, somehow I think that these are irregular wounds.' The scientist gravely recounted to his friend.

The hunter watched as Challenger attempted to take the patients temperature. The man attended to their fallen comrade with tenderness, reapplying gauze and salve where needed. When Challenger turned around, Roxton noticed somehow the scientist's complexion had too changed. His suspicions were confirmed when the elderly gent collapsed to the floor with a bloodcurdling scream.

And John was left undeniably alone.


	7. Chapter 7

Malone cornered her in the small cave; Marguerite stumbled back with a look of fearful prey in her eyes. The knife glistened from his hand while Malone encroached on the injured Englishwoman. She had never been afraid of the lad, but trust so often goes hand in hand with deception. The man who stood before her was evil, it wasn't her friend, her fellow explorer, but he was her enemy.

She winced as the pain shot through her leg and down to the very core of her being. She felt the skin tore anew and watched in horror as she created a path of blood on the rock's uneven ground. She was the prey.

His stare was locked on her and it held mix parts of savagery and lust. The Malone of the past had died and here stood pure evil incarnate.

Marguerite backed up until she hit the wall with a pathetic thump.

'Nowhere else to turn, dear Marguerite. I spent day's hunting you, days following your scent, so pure and feminine. I couldn't think of anything else. And I will have you. Roxton won't be a danger anymore. He won't come between us. I've made sure of that, my darling.'

Marguerite's eyes glistened and let loose a few hot tears. Her eyes burned with regret and love lost. She thought only of her hunter, his casual looks, his love, and their untimely ending. A future lost, a future gained. He raised his hand, the knife that had been the end of so many women and gave off an icy grin.

He held it high, lifting it for all to see and placed it upon her neck.

'Now, now my sweet. Wouldn't want you to run off now.'

Malone, with a deranged glee in his eyes beheld his captive.

He was right to protect you; you sure are a prize worth having.' He accentuated his vile speech with a savage tug at her clothing which sent her blouse sprawling to the uneven ground. She was now clad in camisole and skirt.

She didn't care at that moment for modesty, living on mere survival instincts alone. She needed to get out and surely no one was going to do it for her.

So she plastered a half smile of seduction, and glared wickedly at her captor.

'I've always fancied you.' The heiress said as she leaned forward possessively while extending her cleavage to the slightly aback American. 'Roxton... was a fine lover, but surely I could do with a youthful confidant. Someone who can keep up with me.'

They shared a meaningful glance while the heiress slightly nodded for him to take the bait.

But the psychotic version of the reported shot down her approached and pressed the blade more firmly into her flesh.

'You're trying to fool me. But I will have my prize, you will submit fully. I will have you.'

The reporter pressed his blade at her neck and drew blood. He savagely thumped her against the wall and pressed his lips on her. She fought it with all her might, but the beast was strengthened by madness and she was helpless to defend herself. Tears flowed freely from her eyes as he kissed her mouth violently.

He placed on hand on her throat to remove the blade and slice off her camisole straps. She winced as he replaced the blade and his mouth. He pressed the length of his body on her and she screamed in pain as her leg trembled under the strain. Her screams were muffled by the sheer weight of the man. He wrapped a hand around her slender waist and tugged violently at her skirt. Before it could surrender to his skill, the savage reported slumped to the ground silently.

Roxton stood rubbing his hand from the spot which hit the temple of their comrade. Marguerite trembled as she beheld her hunter.

'John?' She cried as he ran forward, hobbling somewhat and picked her up. He lifted her to the opposite end of the cave, away from the body. He touched her tentatively as if to make sure she wasn't a dream. She did the same placing her small hands upon his scruffy face, and hummed happily to herself. He redressed her bandages and gave her his shirt, as seeing that her own was covered in blood and remorse. They sat their together, both bloodied and hurting and just happy to have each other.

Marguerite awoke with a start. She was bandaged and lying next to a very sick Challenger. Roxton hovered nearby his fallen comrades. He touched her cheek lovingly in an attempt to awake her gently.

Marguerite? Please don't leave me.'

'We've got bigger problems, John.'


	8. Chapter 8

John, I think we're going to get sicker.' The heiress uttered as she looked into the troubled eyes of Roxton.

'No. That's not going to happen.' The rugged hunter grunted and then muttered quietly, 'I can't lose you.'

They shared a silent moment, unwilling to move, not wanting to leave the presence of the other. The moan of the scientist woke them from their reverie, and they tended to the gent's ailments.

'I am afraid we haven't been too honest with you, John.' Challenger stated to the wondering hunter. 'This illness, it has something to do with the knife, and those vile men who brought it here.' He was greeted by surprise the heiress, and subdued anger from the hunter.

'And you felt that what? You'd keep that little tidbit to yourself?'

John..." Marguerite laid her hand on his, as she softly chided the angered man.

"Well, what Marguerite? The man put us all in danger, and this time someone, whom I very much care for, got hurt." The hunter concluded his little rant with a stubborn nod of his head, as his anger-reddened face attempted to cool down.

The heiress just flushed and stared directly at Roxton during his little spat. Her mouth opened partially, an eyebrow raised as she questioned his sanity and motives. "You'd have done the same, John.' Was her only reply, as she patted Challenger's forearm.

As the hunter cooled down, Marguerite listened to Challenger's theories. "We do know that that knife has some undiscovered telecommunicative powers, as previously seen in Malone's visions" to which he was rewarded by confused looks from Marguerite and Roxton, "what if the evil the knife was used for, and further can be, was translated through the mere touch of that vile tool? And as seeing that Marguerite, and I have both been in sub-direct and actual contact with that tool, the evil was translated through us and that raptor, if I may point out was the perpetrator of that act and was also in the vicinity of the knife and subsequently escaped the wrath of that madman and his gangs of miscreants with which also..." The scientist thoughts trailed off from there and he was met with the bewildered face of a disgruntled Roxton.

"What? George, do make some sense Old Boy."

"What Challenger means John, is that if you're around the knife bad things happen and will probably keep happening if this day continues like the previous. Meaning I will keep getting sick, unless you get that damn thing away from me."

The hunter nodded his understanding, and then flung the wrapped thing off the balcony railing. They smiled collectively as it thudded on the ground.

After a solid patching of the various cuts and a strong stomach elixir for the red-haired scientist, Marguerite and Roxton were enjoying a quite lunch together. They shared a good meal cooked by none other than the great white hunter, and rather good company. The shuffled their chairs apart instinctively and then reddened at each other, as they heard the familiar creaking of the elevator.

Veronica and Malone had returned from their trek, medicine and extra gauze in tow.

We found what we were looking for." Veronica bellowed out, in greeting to her housemates.

"In more ways than one' the heiress uttered under her breath and only in earshot to her hunter.

It held a double meaning for Marguerite, one she sensed from the limited distance between the younger couple something had indeed happened, and two she knew Roxton needed some sentiments of her feelings. She lifted her eyebrow suggestively in the direction of the young folks as she regaled her hunter silently of her suspicions. She was treated by a warm smile, and a soft touch of their hands hidden beneath the table.

"Oh, and we found that knife, must've fallen or something. I'm sure Challenge wants to study it more." Malone said as he absent-mindedly replaced the knife on the table. "Oh, and Veronica, tell them about your weird dream, something about Roxton attacking you in a cave somewhere?"

The dark-haired couple shared a sharp glance, as they both decided the fate of the knife.

Fin-

* * *

Well there we go. If you want more stories.. Well then.. You know what to do. 


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